


Glass

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Drugs, M/M, body harm, sherlock and john "talk"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John walks into the flat and hears something not good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glass

John walked in after a long days work to choked off gasps. He's heard a lot in his years with his  flatmate , and every time it shoots adrenaline coursing through his body. Puts him in sprint mode. He came baring groceries, but dropped them at the doorway. 

"Sherlock?!" Screaming, no it wasn't necessary, but the horrible pictures that coursed through his imagination got increasingly worse. 

The noises came from the bedroom, and another image came through John's mind as he came to a halt at the closed door. 

Were these noises of pain or pleasure? 

"Sherlock?" Asking quieter, he tapped his fingers against the wood. In response, a hurt, childlike cry resonated beyond the door. John sighed, shaking his head. Disappointed, a little, then barged through the door.

Glass. Blood as red as the r iding h ood. And Sherlock knelt all fours on the ground. 

"Jesus, talk to me." John walked around the scene to grab Sherlock's  bedsheet , and used it to sweep the shards of glass aside. " Hm ?" 

Unresponsive , Sherlock kept his head down as he watched John work. Wincing when John grabbed his forearm. 

The silence spoke to John. He knew it meant Sherlock was embarrassed, in too much pain, or inhibited in speech. He got a look at Sherlock's face, he needed the man to stand so they could go to the bathroom with better lighting to clean him up, but he saw something else.

Red, dark eyes. Veins straining on the detective's forehead. Drugs.

Anger and hurt raged through John, and he snapped. With a wild movement he jerked Sherlock to a standing. Glass clinked to the wood floor. "I was gone for..." The next words were screamed at Sherlock's ear, "nine hours!" A bloody hand shoved at John's chest, eyes squinting.

"But, no. I can't trust you by yourself for half a day. You go and shoot up!" John growled and squeezed the arm in his hand. He was tired of being angry already. 

He flicked the bathroom light on without warning and sat Sherlock on the  tubside . "I know you are capable, so take your shirt off." John ordered Sherlock loudly and went to the sink and found the first aid. He turned around briefly, "Off!" 

Sherlock jumped into action, shaking and buzzing fingers grabbed at the t-shirt and sloppily pulled it over his head. Blood smeared onto his torso, the cuts seemingly everywhere. Chest, stomach, arms, knees. 

John poured alcohol over multiple cotton balls and took the first aid box to Sherlock and knelt. He didn't act at first. John's hand held his head for a moment and he breathed. "Talk to me." He said again.

He looked up, eyes looking Sherlock up and down. Finally, reaching his face.

He saw a defeat in Sherlock's eyes and saw him blink out a tear. He spoke. The words were hard to follow. 

John listened. It hurt but he listened.

"I read your emails." 

John got the first cotton ball, digesting the sentence, and grabbed the tweezers. "First one." He warned. He applied the cotton ball as he pulled out the first splinter of glass. 

Sherlock inhaled sharply, "You've been talking to a.. Ah... woman."  

John accidentally tugged a piece of glass out too quickly in response, cursing lowly to himself. Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat. 

"Sorry, sorry" He apologized, hand balancing on Sherlock's knee. "Sorry."

"You said.. After Mary, I mean... You said you weren't looking for anyone." 

To John, it confused him further. Sherlock got into drugs because he was talking to someone again? Did Sherlock know what the conversation was about?

"I wasn't. Sherlock, look at me." He pleaded.

Sherlock's eyes closed then fluttered open, struggling to stay on John. 

John put the cotton ball and tweezers aside, his hand hesitating beside Sherlock's. "Sherlock, I wasn't flirting with her. God, do you even read my emails all the way through? That was my boss at the clinic." 

Sherlock shrunk further, his face paling. "Oh." 

John didn't reply again, he got back to work and spent a good while cleaning him up. When he finally finished, he stood and put the first aid back up. "So, uh, what broke? What happened?" 

Sherlock was pulling his pajama leg down over his leg again, and looked behind himself at the tub, "I. I got angry and broke that vase Mary bought me years ago. Then, I fell." 

John stilled, leaned forward back into Sherlock's room and caught a peek of the mess he still needed to clean up. "Sherlock, I could have left you on the floor, you know. I got so angry, I could have spent the night at a friend's." 

Sherlock was still looking at the tub as John spoke and turned the hot water on. "You should have. I can be terribly bothersome." He stood wobbly and began peeling his pajama bottoms and pants down his cut legs. 

John turned around again, but watched through the sink mirror. 

Naked, John realized he probably missed a few cuts. He should leave, John realized as well. He should go and clean the mess up and put the groceries away. The eggs probably broke. The bread is most likely squished. 

He stood there watching him.

Sherlock was in pain as he lowered himself in the rising water. He looked up at John through the mirror, face unmoving. 

John finally replied, "I like it when you bother me." He turned around finally, Sherlock's eyes darting from mirror to John. 

"So, you're not going to find another woman?" The water was at Sherlock's chest now, Sherlock leaned up and strained to reach and turn it off.

John stepped forward, did it for him. Without running water, the silence returned.  "Why would I do that, when I have my hands full working with the great Sherlock Holmes?" It was a struggle in it's own right not to look Sherlock at all angles, so he focused on those red eyes.

Sherlock smiled, hand running through his curls, dampening them. "Don't say that around the Yard, they'll start talking again." 

John grinned, and made his way back to Sherlock's room. "They never stopped."


End file.
